PART III.

High joust, by Carduel's ancient town, The Kingly Arthur holds to-day; Around their Queen; in glittering row, The Starry Hosts of Beauty glow. Smile down, ye stars, on his renown Who bears the wreath away!

O chiefs who gird the Table Round-- O war-gems of that wondrous ring!-- Where lives the man to match the might That lifts to song your meanest knight, Who sees, preside on Glory's ground, His Lady and his King?

What prince as from some throne afar, Shines onward--shining up the throng? Broider'd with pearls, his mantle's fold Flows o'er the mail emboss'd with gold; As rides, from cloud to cloud, a star, The Bright One rode along!

Twice fifty stalwart Squires, in air The stranger's knightly pennon bore; Twice fifty Pages, pacing slow, Scatter his largess as they go; Calm through the crowd he pass'd, and, there, Rein'd in the Lists before.

Light question in those elder days The heralds made of birth and name. Enough to wear the spurs of gold, To share the pastime of the bold. "Forwards!" their wands the Heralds raise, And in the Lists he came.

Now rouse thee, rouse thee, bold Gawaine! Think of thy Lady's eyes above; Now rouse thee for thy Queen's sweet sake, Thou peerless Lancelot of the Lake! Vain Gawaine's might, and Lancelot's vain!-- _They_ know no Fairy's love.

Before him swells the joyous tromp, He comes--the victor's wreath is won! Low to his Queen Sir Elvar kneels, The helm no more his face conceals; And one pale form amidst the pomp, Sobs forth--"My gallant son!"